Kings of Convenience
by slashburd
Summary: The British Invasion have a lot to answer for in my head at the moment. Feat: Brutus Magnus/Desmond Wolfe. This is a bit of fun so not to be taken too seriously. M/M slash, smut, swearing. General Britishness. All reads and reviews appreciated as ever!


"Now Desmond, you know I've had a few too many lemonades so I hope you're planning to escort me home like a real gent would do."

"You mean am I paying for the taxi?"

"Well, yeah. I ended up putting my card behind the bar so I'm a bit light on real money."

"You're light on other..."

"I am not a poofter Desmond, I'm metrosexual. Well, more like trysexual at this time of the morning after that much vodka but you know what I mean."

The solid arm swung around Des' shoulders and landed on them like a ton of bricks. Nick was heavy handed enough when he was sober and Des realised a while ago that there was no improvement in that when large amounts of ale had been guzzled. Instinctively he slid his arm around the waist of the drunken wreck propped against him, having learned from the past that one stumble would find them both on the deck.

A cab was quickly flagged and Des spread out in the space of the rear seat as Nick insisted on riding shotgun and annoying the driver. He parroted a comedy routine that was as lost on the cabbie as the massive polarised sunglasses he'd sported all night long. Eventually the crazy talk turned to idle acapella singing of something Kesha and the journey passed a little quicker for Des as he'd stopped experiencing the usual mortal embarrassment of travelling anywhere and anyhow with Nick.

"Last one out is a bald wanker!"

With that Nick half-fell out of the barely halted vehicle and stumbled off towards the building, just about maintaining his balance. Des settled up with the driver and apologised for the inane nature of his comrade's banter. As the cab pulled away he was met with the sight of Nick leaning on the doorway to their apartment block and pulling the shades to the end of his nose with one finger.

"So then you bald wanker, are you going to invite me in for coffee?"

"No I'm not. Apart from the fact that you fucking live here and can make your bloody own I'm going to leave you outside to sober the fuck up. Just how much did you have and when did you turn into such a white belt?"

Punching the code into the door it beeped and Des pulled it open, not looking behind him to see if Nick was following as he didn't need to.

"I didn't have that much mate. A few shots, a few cheeky beers, nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, you had just as much!"

"Yes, but I'm a proper bloke who can hold his drink. Not like you you poof-"

"Now, now, now Desmond. There's no need to be such a git is there. Any more of that from you and you'll be making your own entertainment tonight."

"Good. Match of the Day is on the sports channel. I can check in, see how Arsenal are doing and just get some kip then can't I?"

Des was half way up the second flight of stairs before a disgusted looking Nick was hot on his heels. Nobody rejected the MagDaddy for football, or they hadn't until then. He knew only too well that Des could be persuaded and he set his mind on making sure that the television never even got switched on.

Running past Des on the stairs Nick couldn't help but laugh, amazed at how he could still leap the stairs two at a time when he was barely able to stay on two feet out in the fresh air. That was it, it was the air's fault. Not the bottle and a bit of Absolut he'd necked. It was a revelation he'd come across on a number of occasions when leaving the bar had seen him connect with the ground but somehow it never seemed to stop him doing it all over again.

Once at the top of the last flight of stairs Nick peeled off his t-shirt in readiness for the calm and collected Desmond to get to the top too. He wiped his mouth on the t-shirt just before he slung it over his shoulder hoping to get the incriminating traces of anyone else off him. Opening his arms wide he stood with his head tilted back as if he were the very vision of perfection itself waiting for someone to come and worship at his feet.

"Are you going to stand there like a prick all night or let me into the flat? Your choice. And by the way, you look like Michael Jackson enticing those little kiddies up on stage. Maybe that should be your new gimmick mate."

With his usual wicked smile Des did nothing more than push past a stunned Nick and unlocked the door, shaking his head all the while. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, more of the time he wondered how Doug had convinced him it would do Nick good to room with someone a bit older and wiser but not as old or wise as Doug himself. It hadn't been intentional for them to end up fucking but in truth that's all it had been. It wasn't love and breakfast in bed, it was convenient, frequent and dirty as hell. Every room, every position; you name it, they'd done it. That was the payoff for fishing the pissed up man out of the bar and taking him home. Nick had few boundaries and fewer morals that disintegrated to none in direct correlation to the amount of drink he'd consumed..

Dropping the keys into the bowl by the couch he noticed that the door was still open and that he was still alone. Des chose not to look round for long, merely starting to unbutton his black dress shirt and kicking his shoes off under the coffee table. Once he'd undone all the buttons he tugged it out of his trousers and then went to work on the cufflinks. He liked to think himself the dapper dresser of the four of them and he was right. It was one of his proudest achievements that he could invite anyone to check his wardrobe and there wouldn't be an affliction, Tap Out or Ed Hardy t-shirt to be found. Paul Smith London for best, Duck and Cover for casual. Simple tastes and colours, nothing close to the diamanté encrusted crap the others wore.

"I take it you are standing out there all night then. Close the door though, you're making the landing look untidy."

With that Nick relented and walked in. He knew Des meant it. If he hadn't come inside he would end up locked out for the night, of that he was sure. He threw his t-shirt over towards his gear bag, still forlornly laid where he'd dumped it earlier on. There was plenty more in there that needed washing but it could wait until the morning. Quietly he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his legs, grateful for the lack of small change in them to keep the noise to a minimum. Leaving the shades and beret where they were he wandered over to the couch and perched himself on the arm, his arm again sliding around Des' neck.

"Well if I stand outside all night a better offer might come along. I mean, look at me. Who wouldn't want this?"

Running his hand down his chest and across the rows of defined muscles he slid his hand straight down his boxer shorts and left it there, hoping that Des would catch the hint. If he was honest he'd been aching for a fuck since about three beers into the night and had already made a failed attempt at pouncing on Des in the toilets at the bar. He didn't think it would work and the death stare it had earned him roundly confirmed that it wouldn't. Des might be gay but he wasn't seedy and the arrangement they had operated on Des' terms only.

"This whole seduction thing is wasted on me mate. Either you want a fuck or you don't. Lets not get all bloody Mills and Boon about it."

Direct and to the point, truly the Desmond Wolfe way. He wasn't big on romance, hadn't been since he'd had his heart stamped into the ground a long, long time ago. Since then his love life consisted of innumerate smash-and-grabs in the bedroom and there was only Nick that had made it back underneath him more than once. That was only because it was convenient and they were friends who both knew the deal and the drill inside and out.

Withdrawing his hand from its warm and comfortable resting place Nick walked towards Des' bedroom and idly kicked the door open. He made short work of shedding his boxers and stood naked and brazen, framed by the gap and the darkness coming from behind him that made his pale skin seem all the brighter.

"Well I want to, its you who's still sat on the sofa old boy. Now, come and get me before I have to go upstairs and see if Rob's still awake and you have to listen to us through the ceiling."

Shaking his head Des got off the sofa knowing at least one good way to stop the torrent of verbal diarrhoea that was spilling out of his inebriated friend. His shirt had stayed behind him and he paused only briefly to shed his trousers and underwear before walking up to Nick and shoving him backwards into the room. He left it in darkness, preferring not to have to look at the oversized shades he was sure Nick would refuse to take off even if threatened. Des was starting to wonder if they'd been surgically grafted on and couldn't fathom why anyone would want to look that ridiculous for all the hours God sent.

One major stumble had seen Nick just about land on the edge of the bed and he propped himself up on his elbows only to find Des stood between his legs. No motions or words were needed for the younger man to understand what the next step was. He sat up and leaned forward, taking the hard cock that bobbed in front of his face and shoving as much of it down his throat as he could manage. The numbing nature of the drinks he'd had helped to keep him from gagging or panicking as the back of his head was grabbed with two hands, firstly to remove and discard the beret and then secondly to make sure he was going to keep on and keep up. Time after time the stiff flesh rubbed across his tongue, making his mouth water and his lips form a vacuum around it. His eyes were closed tight behind the shades, his mind wandering off to stop him worrying about the risk of choking or suffocating.

Des looked down to see nothing more than the sight of the shades moving closer and closer to touching his body. A cruel and almost cold smirk crossed his face, one that was always brought on by the eagerness that Nick showed, something that Des thought equidistant between impressive and pathetic. What had started out as a drunken exploratory grope had moved on to Nick knowing just which buttons to press, when to fight back and when to just accept that he was only there for amusement. The only thing Des refused to do was leave his fuck buddies high and dry. He wasn't one for just rolling over and chucking them the money for a taxi. His ego would never allow it. The one thing he wanted was to be thought of as a good fuck, not a great lover and certainly no Don Juan, just a good, hard, satisfying shag.

Hands clawed clumsily around his thighs and he felt the vibration of a hum or a moan around his slick and painfully hard flesh. It wouldn't have mattered if Nick had started to sing God Save the Queen, there wasn't a chance in hell that even a consummate blow job would get him off. He wanted to let off some steam and the willing and pliable body of his young colleague was just the outlet he was looking for. Time had told him that Nick liked nothing more than being truly and totally dominated. He wasn't into real kink but was happy to lie back and take whatever Des had to hand out. The moments when their eyes had a chance to connect were few and far between, hard doggy and slammed against walls painted, papered or tiled was their increasingly regular preference of position.

When the hands released his head Nick drew back and let the reddened flesh pop loose from his mouth, licking his already swollen lips with an enthusiasm unbecoming of anyone not starring as the lead in a porn film. This time he shoved Des and then levered himself up, the unsteady nature of his drunken legs allowing him a half shuffle around to the side of the bed where he rummaged in the drawer of the bedside cabinet. Much cursing followed as he discarded papers, packets and wrappers until he found what he'd gone for. Casually tossing the lube onto the bed he moved into the centre and grasped his own cock, jerking it idly. With his other hand his shades were removed and dropped into the still open drawer exposing his slightly narrowed eyes.

"Who's taking their time now eh Desmondo? Are you getting on this bed or shall I go back to my own room and finish myself off? Your call mate."

With a shake of his head Des clambered onto the soft mattress, his knees sinking into the the duvet and down further still. The lube was soon retrieved, open and applied, the time for condoms between them long since passed. With one nod Nick rolled over onto his knees, his cheek on the pillow still warm from where he'd just been sat on it. In one last show of dominance Des sunk his fingers into the barest amount of spare flesh that ran down the outside of Nick's hips and gripped hard, knowing tiny bruises would appear within hours.

One calculated and familiar movement later found Des every inch ball deep inside and watching as the hands beneath him clawed and curled into the sheets. The moaning sounded pained but he knew it wasn't. The feeling of getting fucked was a good one but only after the initial shock was done with. The force and pace would soon have a different noise coming from Nick and at least one hand would unfurl from the linen and find its way to the impressive cock that would only receive the friction of the sheets up until that point. As ever when they fucked like that he'd knock Nick's hand away at the last moment and squeeze hard to help and hurt at the same time.

Letting his head loll backwards Des closed his eyes and concentrated on what he was doing, listening to the noises that accompanied the vigorous pounding and letting them dictate what would happen next. Nick on the other hand forced his eyes to stay open; partly to avoid the risk of falling asleep and partly to feel Des all the more. He was glad of the pillows so that the stupid grin on his face couldn't be seen. The night's session was heating up just the way he liked it only he'd never be able to admit that. Instead he'd just get drunk and offer himself up same as always. With Des his cool was gone, his façade crumbled to dust. Under Des he could be the guy who liked it up the arse instead of the pretty boy that all the girls wanted and he was meant to want back. Turning his face to press his forehead against the cool part of the pillows he knew what it took for him to feel free. That thing was soon going to make him make a mess all over the bed, not for the first time and not for the last. Feeling his gut tighten he swallowed hard, safe in the knowledge that he was easily satisfied with the very best.

* * *

**A/N: So, I'm blaming this on ExPlosion or whatever shizz the promos and interviews with Des and Brutus have been on lately. Either way, they're epic, the boys are awesome and they're doing it. For realz, they're doing it *she hopes***

**And the line at the end is a paraphrase on Winston Churchill. It just seemed kinda fitting and suitably irreverent :) All reads and reviews appreciated as always 3**


End file.
